Pretentious narcissistic misanthrope vents....

Whats my motivation?

2007-01-06T14:28:00.000-08:00

Here is a conversation i overheard recently....

“So what do you do?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“Well that’s interesting.”
“No, trust me, it really isn’t. How ever boring you think it is, its twice as boring as that.”
“Oh.”
“…Do you want to hear a good accountant joke?”
“sure, I like a good joke,”
“Ok, Half of all accountants are… Wait, I’m just trying to remember how it goes… Half of all accountants talk about the strength of the pound during foreplay. The other half think talking about the strength of the pound is foreplay.”
“That is good joke.”
“but you didn’t laugh.”
“Sorry honey, I don’t always laugh, doesn’t mean it wasn’t funny.”
“Ok… accounting, its my job, but its not what I really want to do. You see my real passion is acting.”
“like being on TV.”
“No, no defiantly not on TV, I mean real acting, in a theatre.”
“why not TV.”
“I don’t know, I guess, its all done in kind of takes and stops and starts and if it goes badly you just start over again and its not real acting. See real acting is where you stand on the stage and you have to really be your character, completely. you cant just pose in front of a camera until you get it right.”
“yeah I can see that.”
“I mean people on TV are these wannabees who just want to be famous and I don’t want to be famous, I want to actually act.”
“But isn’t it really difficult being on stage in front of all those people.”
“No, no its not, it’s the easiest thing in the world because you have a character and you have lines which tell you exactly what to say and you can study your character in advance and work out exactly how he behaves and what his motivations is and what he will do in the situations he gets into and you can just let the character take over, it’s the easiest thing in the world. This though, this is hard.”
“This?”
“This. Being here, at this party having to talk to people, talking to you. I have to work out what to say and how to behave and what to do. In fact being on stage I feel so much more comfortable than anywhere else. I just don’t know what to do with myself, I go around and I do my job and do things and I just feel so uncomfortable and all the time I’m thinking ‘what’s my motivation!’.”

Healing

2006-11-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

I suffer from a condition known as Chronic fatigue syndrome which causes me to be in a perpetual state of exhaustion. There is no real cure for it but many people have reported improvement in there condition based on various treatments. It is for this reason that I found myself venturing into the world of con-men and deluded crazies that is alternative therapy.

In one particularly interesting case I saw a “healer”, who claimed to be able to cure people through a special energy in her hands. Yes, it does seem somewhat implausible that I Cornealius Drake would visit such a person but believe me I was seriously desperate. Plus I saw her photo on a website and she was hot. If it took £100 to get her special hands on me well then hey, I’ve paid more for sex in the past(My eastern European cleaning lady drives a hard bargain(and steals(and doesn’t dust properly))).

So on a dark and windswept night I arrived at her abode. As I walked into her apartment I was greeted by all manor of crap indigenous art from various tribes which she for some inexplicable reason felt the need to tell me about.
“A sun god from the kowaki tribe of southern Uganda,”
“Fascinating” I replied.
She asked me if I would like her to explain to me the philosophy behind her treatment I said no for fear that it might cause me to punch her. But somehow she still started blathering on about trans dimensional god forces and the spirit world. I distracted myself by staring at her breasts. At one point I think she mentioned something about our life’s purpose and unleashing the essential good within us all. Which did at least make me laugh.

“So if you’d just like to sit yourself down here we can get started.” She said snapping me out of my fantasy of making her eat every picture of a women holding a wolf in her apartment(there were like 10 of them?).
So I took my place in a seat(wicker of course) in the centre of the room.
“Now relax, close your eyes and just let yourself drift into a deep and comfortable place.” She said and proceeded to move her hands over my scalp. As she did this I have to admit I did feel her hands being unexpectedly warm and as she moved them across my temples I felt a real sense of calm and relaxation. I felt my energy return to me. After a few more minutes of hand healing, or whatever the appropriate verb is, she stopped. I opened my eyes to look again on the world. I felt a little better, perhaps.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
“What?” I replied.
“While I was healing you I detected something, You have a very strong energy and from it I received a message from the spirit world about you.”
“Really?”
“You see you have a gift. You are a particularly psychic person.”
“I am?”
“Yes and the reason you are ill is because you are denying your special powers.”
I stared at her. “The only way you will ever recover from your illness is if you learn to harness your gift.”
“Harness my gift? And what precisely would that entail?”
“Well there are a variety of different methods for doing it. But tell you what I run classes in channelling psychic powers, you could sign up for them.”
“And these classes cost how much?”
“Well its a 12 week course and each lesson is £50.”
“so in total that’s…”
“Well I don’t know the figure off the top of my head, but its very reasonable when you consider what you will learn.”
“You want me to fork over £600 so I can learn magic from you?”
“Well magic isn’t the word we normally use but you can call it that if you like.”
“I think id rather call it, insane stupidity.”
“What?”
“Lets just recap what’s happened here. I have come here looking for help, you know I am in a vulnerable position, you’ve started by doing something with your hands that’s made me feel slightly better, then you’ve told me that I’m “special” to build up my ego, then you’ve told me you can help me, then surprise, surprise you’ve told me that the way to help me involves me giving you £600.”
“Cornealius I don’t think I can help you if your being this negative. The spirits can help guide you but only if you have faith in them.”
I burst out laughing. Wild hysterical laughter.

I was about to start shouting insults at her and then leave, when a more interesting idea for pay back occurred to me.
“Im sorry,” I said, stopping laughing “I sometimes get very defensive about my gift.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well I have known about my gift for a very long time, but the truth is I don’t like to admit to it because to me it feels more like a curse than a gift.”
“Really?”
“Yes I receive physic messages about people all the time. In fact I actually received a message about you while you were healing me. It seems than you channelled your energy so well that I was actually given a glimpse of your soul as you did it, you must be a truly great healer.”
She looked a touch sceptical, but her scepticism was swept away by her over riding desire to be the truly great healer I described. In which case she had to assume I was being truthful. “Let me tell you some of things that were communicated to me.”
“go on.”
“They told me that you are a very genuine person and honesty is at the heart of who you are. You are someone who is always searching for truth and it pains you when others can not see the beauty that you see.” How on earth did I guess that?
She nodded slightly.
“You instinctively keep people at arms length until you decide they are to be allowed over that magic line into your group of close friends. However, once across that line, the problem is that an emotional dependency kicks in.”
“Wow yeah that’s really true.” I’ve just told her she is closer to her friends than people she doesn’t know.
“You are a very creative person, you like to create and share your own worlds and imaging’s, You have many dreams but sometimes you give up your dreams too easily when your mind has wandered elsewhere.”
“Yeah.” I’ve just told her you think of doing things until you stop doing them.
“I notice an inner pain that you try to keep hidden because you feel other people wont understand it or you feel like you don’t want to burden those you love with it. Your afraid people will think your failing if you tell them about this. But its ok if you trust in your friends and family they wont let you down”
“Thanks.” Everyone on earth feels more pain than they let on. And just for the record here, sharing your self absorbed pain with others will make them like you less, don’t do it…. Unless you want to trick them into trusting you.
“You feel very held down and constricted by the world, like there is a wild part inside you that needs to be set free. You feel a particular afinity for the wolf. That is your special star marker, your essential god characteristic.” Even I don’t know what I’m talking about here, but everyone likes to be compared to a god. “You are a very interesting and complex person.”
“That’s all so true, how could you know all this?”
“Like I say I’ve had this gift since I was a very young child. I had an accident, I slipped on some ice and banged my head, and ever since I’ve had these special insights.” Lifted straight out of Steven Kings The Dead Zone “But I now think there is a reason I came here today beyond the mere fact of looking to use your extraordinary healing powers. I have a message from a dead relative to deliver to you. Recently you lost your father.”
“no he’s still alive,”
“then maybe its your grandfather who has brought me the message.”
“Yes, Albert, he died last year.”
“Yes he defiantly has something to tell you. You two were very close weren’t you.”
“Yes.”
“Well he says that he loves you and wants me to tell you he still thinks of you and his son, your father.”
“Actually he was my mothers father.
“Yes but your father was like a son to him and he is only now realising this and how much he misses you all.”
“Tell him I love him to.”
“He can already hear that he is watching over you always.”
She smiles. An unfortunate side effect of my plan is that I’ve just made her feel better about life, but do not worry dear reader for it will not last.”
“But now I have another message coming through, and he is saying this is very important. You see there is something wrong with your body, it is growing sick because there is some sort of poison coming into it from your environment. You have already felt this on some level, which is why you’ve already switched to eating organic foods.” How could I have guessed correctly that a new-age alternative healer eats organic? “But your grandfather says though this is good it isn’t enough, the poison is still getting in through something that you eat and if you don’t managed to correct your diet soon you will die. Within the year.”
“I have been feeling under the weather recently but I had no idea it was that serious.”
“It is you must take action quickly your grandfather says.”
She stares blankly around “But what is it I should do, what should I stop eating.”
“He cannot detect exactly what it is, but Albert says you must do something.”
“Oh my God how did you know his name?” She told me earlier in the conversation but in her excitement she has evidently over looked this, a lucky break for me.
“He told me it, I think he’s going now his presence is receding.”
“But there is so much more I need to ask him.”
“Sorry, he is gone now, my gift only lasts for so long.”
I get up to go. She tries to get me to stay, asks if we can meet again but I say I really have to go and that it is things like this that have caused me to stop using my gift and view it as a curse. I would not have used it had she not detected it through her evident physic powers. I left.

See after she had so annoyed me by trying to con me with her alternative health classes I could simply have shouted at her or hit her and that would undoubtedly have felt good but if a person wants to get that truly fulfilling revenge feeling a degree of thought and creativity goes a long way. Now rather than her just having a bruise that will last a few days. I have given her an eating disorder that will probably last a year, maybe longer and could even kill her, if I’m lucky. Now that’s what I call vengeance.

I still have her phone number and I considered calling her again as I’m sure it wont take more than 2 or 3 meetings for me convince her that sleeping with me will heal her, and maybe also handing over large amounts of cash. But after sleeping with her I would have to stop talking to her(I am yet to be able to utter more than a sentence to any women i've ever slept with, and that sentence is normally “I’ll leave the money on the table on the way out.”) and then she would no longer believe in the message id given her and her eating disorder would end. And it would seem that I value my own malice more than sex.

Ive entered into another Philosophy Blog War so if you liked reading this vote for me

Dreams

2006-11-21T17:04:00.000-08:00

I often have dreams in which i die, then i wake up and feel dissapointed.

Misc Stuff and love

2006-10-21T05:05:00.000-07:00

I've been a bit rubbish and not updated in awhile, i kind of feel that my last post was of such quality that i cant really top it, the pressure is to much for me... so here is some of boring stuff about me that every other blog has...

Last night i went to the cinema, saw a movie it was ok, went home Karen said something funny about wallpaper, but i cant remmeber what it was now LOL!!!!!

.. Are you not amused?

If you want to read something funny scroll down to my previos post, if youve read that read it again.

I won the philosphie blog war again demonstarting my superiority over the rest humanity, and another step towards my divine destinay, Germany will soon be mine. Vengence will be sweet.

I have recently been creating a site www.thedirtysnake.com it is a magazine site for english students with too much time on their hands. There are funny/interesting articles on it so if any one is interested in being vagly amused check it out. If you have any good writing that you want to expose to the world they also take contirbutions. There is a link to it in the sidebar.

Also you may or may not have noticed that i have a little bit in my sidebar labbeled Cornealius Drake's Enemies List. I was thinking of taking submissions. If anyone knows someone that they would like to be added to the enemies list post a comment explaining why they should be put on my enemies list, make me really hate them. Reasons should be shallow and vindictive, so any one who nominates George Bush or Tony Blair or someone obvios like that earns themselves a trip striaght to the list.

I have been in love recently so i leave you with a little love poem to warm your hearts...

Butterfly

My love for you is like a butterfly,
It only lives for one day and then once we’ve fucked it dies,
Two minutes is all it will take,
For us to get from adoration to self-loathing and hate
So take my gifts, my offerings, libations,
Bend unto me my divine manifestation,
To be in your heaven is all that I can do,
Just don’t leave me alone here still in love with you,
Cause you’re my butterfly,

Sadly despite my repeated pleas and occasional threats the object of affections will not sleep with and so i remain in this excruciatingly painful state of being in love.
Someone please help me!
If there are any women out there who in any way resemble the charecter of Erika from The Paino Teacher (Isabell Huppert) and live within the london area please contact me, only you can save me from my feelings!

Zen and the Art of Modern Art

2006-09-28T05:40:00.000-07:00

For a while I worked as an modern artist and I would like to tell you now about what I felt was my greatest achievement in that field. Ever since Marcel Duchamp signed that toilet seat a large theme of modern art has been considering what is art. So we had people submitting bricks, old food, elephant dung and even mathematical instructions as artwork. So I Cornealius Drake decided to take this to its logical conclusion. I created a piece of art that had no physical element to it, it was nothing. I called it Zen and the Art of Modern Art and set about getting it exhibited in a local gallery.
I made a big show of building up expectations for my master piece. I put a curtain in front of area where it was to be displayed but told no one what was behind it. Only that behind the curtain was my piece and that it would revolutionise the art world, it would change the way people perceived existence forever.

When it came to the grand unveiling of my master piece I had managed to gather quite a crowd of art students and critics(who else goes to exhibitions?) eager to see how I would live up to my earlier boasts.
“Welcome people.” I said “I Cornealius Drake now present to you my newest masterpiece, Zen and the Art of Modern Art.”
Slowly I pulled back the curtain, the crowed gasped with surprise as behind the curtain there was Nothing. Just the wall of the room. There was silence. Eventually someone from the crowd asked. “But where is it? Where is the piece?”
“Where is not the piece.” I replied.
Then someone else asked “What is the piece?”
“What is not the piece.” I replied.
“Is there actually a piece?” someone else asked.
“Yes,” I replied “it is both everywhere and nowhere, but that which is, is not the piece.”
There were murmurings from the crowd as they attempted to comprehend this. They stared at the empty space trying to unearth its secrets. One art student brought out her sketchbook and tried to sketch a copy of it. I offered people the opportunity to buy a share of the piece for £10 and upon handing over the money I would say “The piece is yours, piece be with you.”

My piece was declared a huge success, the art world lapped it up. I was an overnight sensation. Photographs of my piece appeared on the covers of all the top arts journals. Eventually the Tate modern bought my piece out right for £10 million. The delivery man turned up at my house one morning to collect the piece.
“Alright,” he said “I am here to pick up the piece, where is it?”
“Where is not it.” I replied
“What?” he said
“What is not it.” I replied
He stared at me.
“That which is, is not the piece,” I added
After much baffling conversation he eventually understood and got back into his van to take the piece back to the Tate Modern. But then tragedy struck. an armed gang had been tipped off that this multi million pound artwork was being transported to the Tate and ambushed the driver as he drove across London.
The gang disabled the van and broke open the back to find, nothing. The leader of the gang went to the driver and held the gun against his forehead.
“Look mate,” the gang leader said “we know you’ve got a priceless artwork in this van and unless you want your fucking head blown in I suggest you tell me where the fuck it is.”
“Where the fuck is it not.” Replied the driver.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What the fuck am I not talking about.” Replied the driver.
BANG!
The gang leader shot the driver in the leg.
“You best not fucking play around with me, you Cunt cause ill fucking kill you, now tell me where it is.”
“Where is it not?” Replied the driver between sobs of pain.
BANG!
Again the gang leader shot him, this time in the other leg.
“Was that supposed to be some sort of joke you bastard, you laughing now?” said the gang leader.
“Look please don’t shoot me again, im trying to convey to you the piece.”
“What?”
“Try to understand, The piece is both everywhere and nowhere, that which is, is not BANG!
Now the gang leader shot the driver in the shoulder.
“Please don’t kill me, try to understand what im saying. What is the sound of one hand clapping?”
“What?”
“If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound?”
“What are you talking about?
“What did your face look like before your grandparents were born.”
“Why?”
“Please the piece is a metaphysical construct. A challenge to conventional views of Art and existence, based around idea of Zen and concepts of being and nothingness.
“Don’t insult my fucking intelligence.”
BANG!
This time the driver was shot in the head and after a few moments he died.
The gang fled and the police arrived soon after. They combed the crime scene for clues but as hard they tried they could not retrieve the piece and it was assumed the gang had made off with it. Over the next few years the police managed to track down the gang and bring them in for questioning.
“Where is the piece?” asked the lead investigator to the gang leader.
“Where is not the piece,” replied the gang leader
“Are you trying to be smart?”

The piece was unfortunately never recovered and due to complex legal issues the Tate Modern was able to retract its payment to me based on the fact the they had never actually received the piece. I tried in vain to explain to the judge that the piece was both everywhere and nowhere and so it was impossible for them not to have received the piece but he had me thrown out of the court.

I tried to reproduce the piece by my reproduction was dismissed as an inferior rip off and I was laughed out of the art world, never to return......

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I have entered into the Philosophy Blog War. So Vote For Me if you you would be so kind.

Joe

2006-09-19T15:26:00.000-07:00

I will here take a few moments to introduce Joe to you. He is for want of a better word my friend. To look at he is a hideous specimen. Only 5 foot tall his face is covered in all manner of scars and warts from a combination of childhood abuse(his father used to use him as a dart board, the big wart is worth 50) and his ineptness with kitchen utensils. He lost 2 of the fingers on his left hand in a bizarre chop sticks accident. Last month I cut off 2 of the fingers on his right hand because I found the lack of symmetry so very irritating.

I can still remember the first time we met, it was in the music room of the college we both attended. As I entered that room he scampered over to me, head bowed, and muttered some kind of syllable which I assumed to be hello. I considered simply ignoring the gimp but something made me reply.

“Hello, I am Cornealius Drake” I proclaimed.

In response he muttered something else inaudible, but after some gesturing on his part(what is it Lassie, is something wrong boy?) it became apparent that he wished to show me something. First he moved over to a nearby violin and proceeded to play a rendition of Bach 1st violin sonata, it was stunning. The moment that finished without pause he moved over to the guitar and tremolo picked his way through a perfect Spanish folk song. Then again not hesitating he moved to the piano and went straight into a lightning speed version of rachmaninov’s 3rd piano concerto. Again I was astounded never before had I heard the piece played so fast yet so accurately and with such emotion. With a trill he finished and turned towards me. He tried to look at my face to gauge my reaction but was to nervous to look at my eyes and so stared at my chest.

I started clapping. Loud slow claps that echoed through the music room. “Astounding” I said between claps, “simply astounding.” At this he met my gaze and started to smile, then I continued. “It astounds me that you can be so desperate to be liked that you put that much effort into learning to play. You must be a deeply pathetic person. It astounds me that you thought that being as ugly and social maladjusted as you are you could somehow redeem that by playing music. That this would somehow cause people to overlook your hideousness. What you thought if you played me a nice enough song I would became your friend?” At this I burst out laughing. He looked down at his feet. “Simply astounding. Thank you thing, what ever your name is, You have broadened my horizons never before have I seen a pathetic specimen of the human race sink quite so low.” At this point I expected him to rush out of the room, in tears I hoped. But he didn’t move, he sat there staring down. “What, will you not leave? Or do you intend to remain here and absorb more of my insults.” He shuffled on the spot. It was then that I realised that for a person as hideous as this it was unlikely any one ever said even a word to him. My verbal assault was probably the most human contact he had had in years. In my attempt to hurt him I had inadvertently caused the first human connection he had ever felt.

Quickly I exited the music room, horrified at how I had helped this vile thing. But as I feared he followed me out. He continued to follow me every time I came to the college. With this thing in my tow it became impossible for me to succeeded in the other friendship I had started to pursue at the college, which would surly have otherwise been very strong as I am a handsome witty charming intelligent person and when I want someone to like me I have the strength of character to ensnare them. Also the women I had started to make acquaintance with now also avoided me because of this thing, and again I am 100% certain that were the thing not following me I would have succeeded in fucking every women that I please, as I am a handsome witty charming intelligent person and when I want a women to sleep with me I have the magnetism to ensnare them.

I tried desperately to be rid of the thing, I ran from him, hurled abuse at him, beat him first with my fists and then with an iron bar. But still on coming out of the coma he returned to me with anew vigour. Eventually I gave in. I accepted his pursuit of me and ceased fighting. I made an agreement with him that he could be in my presence if he made an effort to conceal his face and after about 2 years of this I even let him tell me his name “Joe”. After another few years I was even kind enough to let him remain in my presence without hiding his face, so long as no one else was around.

I found in many situations he was useful to me, I could steel from shops safe in the knowledge that he would always take the fall for me. I could concoct schemes in which I had an accomplice I could rely on. He was Watson to my Holmes, robin to my batman, Himmler to my Hitler. We were a classic duo. Of course after the loss of the 2 fingers he had to give up the piano and now I’ve cut off the other 2 he cant play the violin or guitar either. But as you may already have guessed given his disgusting appearance and complete lack of social skills he now works in IT. A place where his very inability to construct coherent sentences allows him to charge clients twice as much. I spent last night with Joe picking up chicks at the aids patient ward.

Cash back

2006-09-03T02:39:00.000-07:00

Last week I attended an alcoholics anonymous meeting where I witnessed a scene that I feel is worth repeating. A somewhat elderly man was speaking. He had the red nose of a hard drinker, dirty scuffed jeans and a red woollen top that looked like it hadn’t seen a wash this side of the Kennedy assignation. His accent was hard to place, at first I thought it to be an usual Scottish dialect but the more I listened the more it started to take on a south African twang. He informed the group that his name was John and surprise, surprise he was an alcoholic. He had been sober for fully 13 days. The group leader, his name was Reginald Cumber asked John “What is the worst thing you have ever done because of your alcoholism.”

Before he replied John took a long pause and looked down at his feet, perhaps to inspect his toes through the holes in his shoes. It seemed he might remain like that until the end of the meeting but after an interminable wait he looked up and began.
“I guess ill have to start right at the beginning,” he said “I was living abroad at the time, in Thailand, this was many years ago. I had a house with my wife and daughter, she was 4, and I loved them both very much. But I was drinking. I was drinking hard, I was out of control. Drinking everything I could get my hands on. And well, One night I was penniless and desperate for a drink. So I, I sold my wife and daughter to a local mafia boss.” Everyone stared, the group leader was about to say something when John signalled that he wished to continue.

“Well see then 10 years later they came back to me. My daughter was now grown and my wife horribly scared across the face. They had a look in there eyes of the most unspeakable horror, a blackness, impenetrable. They had lived through hell as slaves for 10 years all because of me. I cant even imagine the pain I must have caused them. The guilt its still terrible, the torment of it all. But still after all I had done to them, even after how unforgivably I had wronged them. Still they had returned to me. Still there was love between us… But then I got drunk and sold them again!” The group looked on horrified. John simply stared into nothing. Then a faint smile flickered across his lips and he said “Cash back” and then burst out laughing, or it might have been crying, it was hard to tell. He then sunk to his knees and put his head in his hands and Sobbed. This lasted for a for several minutes as the members of the group looked to each other unsure of what to do. But eventually Reginald, the group leader, gathered himself enough to speak “John I am so sorry, that is the worst thing I have ever heard of.”
“Oh no,” replied John, suddenly alert “No, that’s not the worst thing I ever did. The worst thing I ever did was when they got back again 12 years after that.”

A chance encounter

2006-08-25T03:00:00.000-07:00

I was eating lunch with my mother at that restaurant in Hampstead heath. With her sly remarks and dour glances she was busy demolishing what remnants of my self esteem I had managed to gather about me since our last meeting. She reproached me for my lack of success in life, for the fact I didn’t have a wife, for my messy eating, poor table manners, scruffy hair. Then she proceeded to attack me for not visiting her more. I bit my tongue until it bled.
My mother is one of these elderly Jewish women who have made there life a mission to try and prove that Hitler had the right idea (sorry if that comment offended, I just don’t know where to draw the line(though I do think it contains a sizable chunk of the west bank(oh satire))). Another point about my mother that needs to be noted here is her attitude to sex. She views it as something wrong, evil. On this point I would say that I agree with her in part. I do not be believe that sex is innately wrong and evil, but if its any good it is. Also if there are any feminists reading this I would like to make a statement on behalf of all men, pornography isn’t innately evil and degrading to women, but if its any good it is. If men wanted to watch women enjoying themselves during sex they’d masturbate while she shopped. Pornography would be videos of women eating chocolate while lecturing a man for leaving the toilet seat up.
But where was I, oh yes. As I sat there I noticed a man on the next table who looked familiar. But try as I might I couldn’t place him. He looked tough, but with a rather large gay moustache that made him seem completely out of place with the surroundings. As my mother continued to berate me I become more and more fixated on this man, where did I know him from. I told my mother of my plans to become a doctor and she reluctantly conceded it was a good idea and then proceeded to lecture me on how much more successful her sister’s son was than me. As much to quiet my mother as anything else, I mentioned that I recognised the man at the next table. This stopped her for a moment and so I seized the chance to gain the mans attention.
“Excuse me,” I said to him “But I’m sure I recognize you from somewhere, do we know each other.”
Upon my word a ghastly smug smile came across the mans face and he said in a sickening Texas drawl.
“Why yes, my name is Randy McCock, I’m a porn star, you must have seen one of my movies.”
My mother stared on aghast. She said nothing but her glare told all.
“No that cant be it.” But even as I said this the horrible mental image of this mans come face appeared in my head. My mother registered my recognition and her gaze intensified. I made a mental note to kill myself once I got home.

Proust

2006-08-22T09:20:00.000-07:00

I have finally proved beyond a shadow of a doubt my superiority to all other people in the world. I have just finished reading all 7 volumes of Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu. In the origanal french. For the second time. And i dont even speak french.....

I learnt to speed read, i got really good, i managed to read war and peace in 15 minites, it was about russia.(Woody Allen)

Epiphany

2006-08-20T09:50:00.001-07:00

An incident happened to me recently that is is of note and so i have decide to recount it to you here.

I was at my aunts house with my father and 3 year old sister. I was feeling unwell and deeply anxious as has been my perpetual state these last few years. I have a constant fear that some terrible event is about to befall me. But it is not the event it self that i fear, but the unbearable feeling of fear i will experience during this event. I lay down on the sofa to try and recover some my strength. I felt miserable. I watched my young sister gleefully dancing about the living room with her aunt. I felt even more miserable. Then in an instant my sister after a particulerly exuberant twirl fell sideways on a large conical lampbulb. The glass broke and a large shard drove deep into her leg.
In this moment a change came over me, for a breif moment my self loathing abated. My head previously a rush with none specific worry clared and i felt completely calm. I moved over to my sister to examine the wound. The glass had cut so deep that inside the wound was yellow. The chunk of her flesh apeared to be hanging off. Blood was everywhere. But i felt no nausea.
"Daddy, how is my leg going to get back together" my sister cried.
I found it incredably easy to think through the correct cource of action, calling the hospital and bounding the leg as best i could with what was available to hand. Looking back it was amazing how much less anxious i felt with my sister bleeding onto the floor than i did just normally being myslef. For these moments i no longer hated myself. I felt... happy.
But i realised that soon the paramedics would arrive, they would take charge of my sister and with the tradgy over i would be back to myself. A situation i could not tolerate, i felt good, i needed more. I left my father to tend to my sister and huredly left the room. I called the hospital and over the next few mintes in a variety of false accents i reported as many ergencies as i could "a man has had a heart attack in a shopping mall" "A women has been stabbed on the high street" "A car accident on liverpool rd" In the hope that the ablunce would be called to another destination.
I returned to the living room to comfort my sister. The carpet was sticky with blood.
"Its going to be okay bady, the ablunence is going to be here soon." I said
"I need potatoes to stick me back together." she said
"I dont think potatoe will do that?"
She lost concoiusness. I wondered if maye sticking her fingers into the plug socket would give her a shock bring her back. But sadly i never got the chance to try this as soon the amblunce arrived and she was rushed to hospital.

I was now left alone, abandoned. I sat back on the sofa and all my feelings of pain returned. I was still me, i was still a mess.
But something had changed, I had glimiced a way back from the feelings that assial me. I had an epiphany. I would become a doctor. If i saved enough peoples lives maybe i could buy back my soul. Surly if i was healing the sick that would have to make me a viable humen being by default.

Also as a doctor you get alot of money and power. I mean i would be able to decide who lived and who died. Hundereds of poeple would be at the mercy of my whim. "I dont like the look of this person" i could say "therefore i decide his cancer is untreatable, and i dont need a scan to prove it". Also if i were to ever comit to being a serial killer what better pratice. I dont think i would have any problem with difficult patients as i tend to thrive on confrontation. But the downside i do see in being a doctor is if someone were to thank me for saving there life. I cant imagine anything more arkward. I mean what would i say, and what if they started crying or something, horrid.

Oh and incase any one is interested my sister died shortly after arriving at the hospital. The funeral is a week saterday.

No Remorse

2006-07-29T13:43:00.000-07:00

Boredom can be a powerful force. Poets may talk of love, envy, hate and lust but for me boredom can be infinitely more powerful. I was involved in a good example of this some years back. I had a job on the till of the kitchen utensils section of a large department store. It was a slow day. My boredom grew. At about 4.30 a black man walked in to the store and started browsing. He looked through the pots and pans and forks and spoons until he eventually selected a large kitchen knife. He held it towards me, point first, and asked how much it cost. I threw up my hands and shouted “Look man I don’t want any trouble, just take the money!” He was not amused and gave me a rather angry stare. Then the security guard charged in, maced the guy and proceeded to beat him to the floor. You should have seen the look on his face, it was hilarious.
He’s now doing 5 to 8 years for attempted robbery.
The judge didn’t buy his story.
And I was brilliant in the witness box.
He came up for parole recently. But was rejected. The board said it was because he showed no remorse for his crime. Some people are just so heartless. I also gave the parole board some of the death threats he sent me. I was really proud of them, it took me 3 years training to be able to copy his handwriting so accurately.

After 8 years the man was released and came to see me. He told me how he had spent 7 years in prison filled with rage, everyday plotting how he would take his revenge. But in the 8th year a change had come over him. He had found religion and realised how his anger destroyed himself more than it harmed me. Now he had come to visit me so as to forgive me for how I had harmed him. I replied “forgive me, why? It was you who tried to rob me.” But eventually I broke down in tears and admitted what a terrible thing I had done and how sorry I was for the pain I caused him and his children and wife who had recently remarried and moved to Australia with the kids. I told him that my only wish was that I could give him back the years of his life that I had stolen from him. I invited him back to my flat to have a drink and talk about this more. When we got back home I went straight to the kitchen and pulled out a knife. He looked on in horror as I stabbed myself repeatedly about the chest and arms.
He now doing 25 years for attempted murder.
The judge didn’t buy his story.
And I was brilliant in the witness box.
He wont be coming up for parole for a long time.
Personally I’m just glad justice has been done.

Pretentious narcissistic misanthrope vents his spleen at the world in an act of barely disguised self loathing

2006-07-29T09:48:00.000-07:00

I had wanted to call this blog Pretentious narcissistic misanthrope vents his spleen at the world in an act of barely disguised self loathing. But blogspot wouldnt allow it to be that long.

Not sure what i plan on putting in here... I dont want it to just be rants... and the title isnt meant to be serious.

I just finished reading a book called Why ME. It is an "inspirational" tale about the auther Alex Howard healing himself of ME. Yes that is a pun in title... thankfully in the next 180 pages the author doesnt attempt another joke, i think all his creative energies were used up on the title.
I almost stopped reading half way through the first chapter as the author attempted to convay his feeling by drowning his sentecnces in endless streams of adverbs. He also felt the need to constatly repeat the same point using different words. I would have stopped reading if not for the fact that i have CFS/ME and would gladly walk through hell to recover, so i contiued....
The auther spends severall chapters explaining what its like to live with ME, in a word horrible. There you go ive just saved you all reading 50 odd pages.

When it gets to the point of author actaully recovering from the illness, we are treated to the delightfull little sentence "I relised that i had chosen to get ME before i was born so as to learn an important life lession in this life". Aside from the issue of whether or not this is true(Its not, if your not born yet what possible basis can you have for making judgements(This womb is warm i think ill develope ME 16 years from now?)) the author makes no aknoweldgement of the fact that many people would regard such a statement as evidence that you are certifiable. He makes no attempt to justify it or say, some of you may think that sounds a bit mad. He just says it and moves on as if that is a completely natural thing to say. I came to the conculsion that i had probably chosen to get ME before so i would eventually read his book and hate him.

The main treatments that the guy recommendes are NLP and Lightning therapy i have heard of other people who did well on these treatments so if you want to recover from ME then try them out, do not read this book, and whatever you do dont recover from ME to become a smug self satisfied "healer" lacking any self-awearnce.

But the most shocking thing of all was to come after i finished the main text. at the end of the book is a page where the auther lists some of the books and movies that helped him... In horrer i gazed down the list of movies to find..... Patch Adams! yes this is a movie that Alex howard regardes as "inspirational". Patch Adams is the most excruatingly trite sentimental mess of a movie i have ever seen. It also inculdes a seen where Patch, expertaly portrayed by an ritalin loaded Robin Williams, is standing on a cliff preparing to commit suicide(oh how i cheered dear reader) when he saw a butterfly.... started laughing... and realised that life was worth living because there was a butterfly.....

What more can i say?